


The Nightingale's Companion

by GallifreyanHeroine



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Companions, F/M, Jealousy, Multi, Thieves Guild, Unrequited Love, nightingales - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanHeroine/pseuds/GallifreyanHeroine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say love in Skyrim is hard to find and even harder to keep. What's a Dragonborn to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

They were at it again. Honestly, Kirskja was beginning to wonder if they were doing it just to annoy her. The constant flirting between Brynjolf and Karliah on the missions was making her consider going solo. And it wasn’t just on missions, but in the Cistern and Ragged Flagon as well. No one dared to speak up about it for fear of pissing off Brynjolf and getting put on the worst jobs. Kirskja could tell them off, but it didn’t feel right to be angry at them, especially Karliah. She couldn’t have known how Kirskja felt about him.

“What do ya say, lass? Care to grab a drink with us?” Kirskja looked up to see Brynjolf with a large smile, and it took her a moment to process his request. With a small smile she could barely muster, she shook her head.

“Not this time. I’m heading back to Whiterun.” His brow furrowed just a bit as she gathered her things into a pack.

“Again? What’s in Whiterun that’s so important to ya?” The question made her stomach clench, though she’d decided long ago it didn’t matter if he knew. She pulled her hood on, feeling the magick seep into her blood. 

“Seriously, Bryn? That’s where her home is.” One of the passing thieves, Rune, snorted as he made his way out of the Cistern, and Brynjolf went slacked jawed. She sighed, moving towards the hidden entrance.

“Wait, wait…” He took her arm, forcing her to face him. Just past his shoulder, she could see Karliah giving them a strange look. It struck Kirskja as a form of jealousy, and she swallowed her own. “Why didn’t you mention you had a home?” Looking up at him, she shrugged.

“You never asked.” She turned away before he could say anything else, hurrying towards the exit. As soon as fresh air hit her face, she felt better. It wasn’t long before she had her horse from the stables and was riding toward home.

It took her nearly a full day to return, the sun on the verge of setting as she entered the city walls. More than once she’d been stopped by bandits and animals, having to take the time to clean blood off her armor and blade more often than she’d liked. Now, as she shuffled towards her house, she couldn’t wait to collapse into her bed of furs and sleep for the next few hours. A few people waved and said hello, which she replied to as kindly as she could muster. 

The next morning, Kirskja took a walk through the town, stopping to chat with a few of the merchants she was more familiar with and telling stories to a few of the children in the market place. The socializing didn’t last long, and soon she found herself in front of the one building she hadn’t been in yet: Jorrvaskr, the home of the Companions. There were stories of them, of course. They were a group of warriors for hire; more prestigious than mercenaries, but able to be bought with the right amount of money. Kirskja only hesitated to consider whether they would find her Nightingale armor threatening before deciding to enter anyway. Inside was the largest indoor hearth she’d ever seen, along with fine wooden furnishings. The smell of leather and food, tinged with metal, filled the air. Off to one side, it appeared there was a brawl happening, with a few others cheering from the sides. She stepped in quietly, watching with interest.

“What’s the issue here?” She leaned to ask the man closest to her. He turned, and automatically she was quick to size him up. He was large, with a great sword in the scabbard across his back and fine armor over his muscled body. He would be a difficult opponent in a fair fight, and certainly difficult to pickpocket. He seemed to size her up as well, before meeting her gaze.

“A test of strength based on a wager.” His voice was deep and a bit gruff, as though he didn’t use it very often, and she nodded. Such things were not unheard of; she would have been more surprised if things like this didn’t happen in a hall full of trained fighters. Even the thieves had their little contests, though usually at someone else’s expense. It ended quickly enough and the crowd dispersed while the two warriors sat to tend each other’s wounds.

“You mind if I ask you a question or two?” The man turned to face her fully, crossing his arms across his chest. He nodded and she offered a smile and a hand. “First up, what’s your name, friend?” He seemed to hesitate before taking her hand, giving a surprisingly gentle shake.

“Farkas. You?” He released her hand, and she stuck them in the pockets of her leggings.

“Kirskja. Nice to meet you.” He nodded again, and she waited a beat before continuing. “So, can you tell me about the Companions?” He looked surprised by her question, and she could see his gaze darting around as though looking for help. It seemed he truly wasn’t used to talking much; in an unusual bout of pity, she gave a warm smile. “Maybe I should be asking whoever is in charge. Care to point him out?” That seemed to relax him a bit and he pointed to a set of stairs. 

“Downstairs, to the end of the long corridor.” She nodded her understanding and gave a small wave before heading that way. He gave an awkward one back, and she could feel his gaze on her as she descended.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ve never heard of them.” The phrase was practically music to Kriskja’s ears. Vilkas sneered down at her, and she made a mental note to try him in a fight at some point just to see if he’d earned that ridiculous attitude. The older man, Kodlak, waved a hand in dismissal of the man, who left the assassin and older warrior alone to talk. He seemed to think she would make a fine addition to their group, and she was happy to hear him send her to Vilkas to show was skills she already had. Vilkas seemed less than happy to be the one dealing with her.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” Kriskja slid her hood into place, eyes peering out at the larger man. He pulled out a rather large sword, holding it in a defensive position. Deciding it would be best not to kill him in front of his well-armed friends, she went easy, slicing at him with the sword gifted to her from the Blades. She still must have impressed him; he stepped back a pace with each blow. It didn’t last long and he gave her a task to complete, leaving her to figure out details on her own. She slid her hood off, sheathing the sword and making her way back into town proper. She stopped at a local shop to trade goods, ignoring Belethor’s usual bad jokes and snide comments, before heading to her home to rest up before another journey.

Vampires. Of course it just had to be vampires. Not that she was complaining, it certainly beat Falmer or Dwarven Centurions. Still, it wasn’t exactly the easy job she’d expected, and by the time she returned, she had a few wounds to lick and a bag of loot. Dropping the sack at Breezehome, she shuffled to Jorrvaskr, flopping into a chair in the corner and pulling her tunic back to poke at the wound she’d hastily covered with linens.

“Here.” Her head snapped up to see Farkas standing above her, what looked to be a basket of medical supplies in his arms. Without another word, he knealt in front of her, pulling the bloodsoaked linen from her wound and inspecting the damage. She stayed quiet as well, watching him carefully. He pulled a few vials from the basket, as well as clean linens. With practiced movements, he dressed the wound, drawing a hiss from her at the stinging and being sure to bind it all tightly. He offered her a small healing potion, and she tossed it back, not wanting to linger on the awful flavor.

“My thanks, Farkas.” He turned to pack away the materials as she readjusted her tunic, sighing as she settled back into the chair. “If it wasn’t clear, the vampires have been handled.” He nodded, standing and looking down at her with a smile.

“Good. Welcome to the Companions.” With a simple pat on her shoulder, he turned and left, leaving Kriskja to wonder what to do next. After a few moments rest, she decided to head back home and sleep off the pain, shuffling back through town and wondering just what it was these Companions dealt with every day.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite her position as the leader of the Thieve’s Guild, Kriskja found herself more and more busy proving herself to the Companions. Still, her duties to her Guild required she visit Riften often, and due to her lack of patience for her fellow Nightingales, she purchased a house in which to stay in town. On the night of her return to Whiterun, Farkas caught her just outside Breezehome, stating that Skjor had a task for her to prove her worth as a full member of the Companions. In spite of her journey, excitement shot through her at the chance to adventure and prove herself once and for all, and so she followed Farkas back to Jorrvaskr. Their task was to recover a fragment of an ancient weapon, once belonging to the founder of the Companions, and she relished in the idea of a cairn. Such places usually held a fair amount of loot, and she had been doing her best to bring the Guild back to it’s former glory after they had been robbed.

They reached the cairn in no time at all, and Kriskja pulled her hood up and drew her bow, dropping into a crouch. Farkas eyed her but followed suit as they entered, and from the beginning, she could tell her instincts had been right.

“Look’s like someone’s been digging here, and recently. Tread lightly.” Farkas’ voice was pitched lower than normal, nearly nothing more than a growl as they surveyed the room. Truthfully, it did look as though several people had been in the area recently, and the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand up. With the betrayal of Mercer so fresh in her mind, she crept forward, tensed and waiting for an ambush. A stone shifted and she reacted instantly, taking a step away from the sound and drawing her bow. Her heel caught on another loose rock, and she was quick to adjust. “Be careful around the burial stones. I don’t want to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back.” She shot him a glare before moving to continue forward, careful to keep her steps silent since Farkas wasn’t as quiet as her thieves and she made a note to offer him some lessons. They discovered a large room with a locked door, and she moved to flip the switch. Almost immediately, a gate closed behind her as the other opened, and she straightened with a huff.

“Farkas.” Only calling loud enough for him to hear, she waited as he approached, noting a small smirk on his face at her predicament.

“Now look what you’ve gotten yourself into.” He teased, eyes taking in the situation thoroughly. “No worries, just sit tight. I’ll find the release.” The sound of footsteps caught their attention and Kriskja tensed as several armored people entered the room. They seemed to talk amongst themselves before drawing weapons. In the time it took her to draw her bow, planning on doing what she could to help Farkas, he had changed, a large werewolf in his place. The attackers only hesitated for a moment before setting upon him, and she watched as he tore them apart easily. Glancing at her, the wolf took off into another room. The door opened and she stepped out cautiously, a bit relieved to see the Farkas she recognized coming towards her.

“I hope I didn’t scare you.” There was concern in his tone and gaze and she took a moment to think over the events of the last few minutes.

“What was that?” He seemed to think it over a few moments before making a decision.

“It’s a blessing given to some of us. We can be like wild beasts. Fearsome.” It shouldn’t have surprised her that he had so little to say about it, and Kriskja resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You’re going to make me a werewolf? Is that what this test is for?” Farkas was already shaking his head, giving her what she assumed was his best reassuring look.

“Oh no. Only the Circle have the beastblood.” There was a slight feeling of relief, though she found herself still reeling. “We should keep moving. Still the draugr to worry about.” She nodded, gripping her bow a bit tighter and making her way deeper into the cairn. While there were more Silver Hand, as Farkas called them, to worry about, they completed the quest easily and returned with the fragment, much to the joy of the other Companions. Kodlak insisted on initiating her immediately, and she stood and listened to Farkas talk of her bravery and ferocity in battle. She couldn’t help but beam when she was welcomed as an official Companion and everyone began to congratulate her. Her mood was dampened slightly by the arrival of the courier with a letter from Riften, and she stepped away to read it over.

“Is there trouble, Shield Sister?” She jumped, surprised she hadn’t heard Farkas approaching. In truth, Brynjolf had written to say they had an issue within the Guild and she was already dreading having to act as their leader. Folding the letter and tucking into one of her many pockets, she shook her head with a tight smile.

“Nothing I cannot handle, Farkas.” He didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she knew she’d have to hurry back to the Ratway. “I’m afraid I have to go to Riften for a few days. I’ll return as quickly as I can.” Turning on her heel, she hurried to the stables, easily swinging onto her horse and spurring into a gallop. If there was even a hint of rebellion in the Guild, she would need to snuff it out quickly, lest all the work her and the others had put in be turned to dust.


	4. Chapter 4

The issue at the Guild turned out to be one of the newer thieves having crossed Maven Blackbriar, and there was nothing worse than Maven when she was angry. Leaving Brynjolf to dole out the punishment to the fool while Kriskja left to speak with Maven. To say the older woman was upset would be an understatement; it had taken Kriskja a good hour to convince her not to turn on the Guild. They were still a bit of a ways off from being able to support themselves, and she didn’t want to be left in a lurch. After promising Maven at least a dinner with the Jarl of Whiterun, Kriskja returned to the Cistern, exhausted and angry.

“The lad is in the Flagon. Gave him a good speaking to, lass.” She wasn’t stupid; she figured her second-in-command had likely gone easy on the boy for being new, but this was beyond what they normally dealt with. Her anger must have shown on her face, because this was a rare moment Brynjolf wasn’t smiling.

“Bring him to me. Clear the Cistern.” Her tone was like ice as she made her way to her desk, taking a seat and beginning to draft a letter to the Jarl of Whiterun. Owing Maven favors wasn’t high on Kriskja’s list, and she counted herself lucky that most people didn’t know her true nature. If Maven thought the Dragonborn was under her thumb, Kriskja would never be free. She looked up as Brynjolf brought in the boy, who looked less scared than he ought to, and sat him roughly in another chair across the desk from her. With a whistle, he gathered everyone else and led them back out to the Flagon, leaving her with the boy.

“Guildmistress, I’m so sorry-” She raised a hand, cutting him off. Leaving him in silence, she let him stew for a few moments before speaking.

“You endangered every thief in this organization.” She knew he could hear her despite her low tone. “What were you thinking?” He seemed to hesitate to answer and she arched a brow.

“I-I was thinking with the Blackbriars being the richest, I could help the Guild. I didn’t realize they were off-limits.” Kriskja took a deep breath, rubbing the spot between her eyes. Brynjolf was meant to make sure everyone was aware of the deal; if this thief was telling the truth, then he was slacking on his responsibilities. 

“Now, I trust you aren’t lying to cover your hide?” He shook his head rapidly and she debated whether her position as Dragonborn could be revealed today. Instead, she sat up a bit straighter, allowing some of the power of her Dragon soul to seep into her voice. “Are you sure?” Pale faced now, the boy nodded again, fear filling his gaze. With a nod, she turned back to her letter, allowing her voice to go back to normal. “Good. You may go.” He stood quickly. “And send me Brynjolf.” She sensed his slight hesitation before he made his escape, leaving her to finish her letter quickly. It didn’t take Brynjolf long to arrive.

“You wanted to see me, lass?” Satisfied with the missive to the Jarl, she let the last of the ink dry before sealing it.

“Have a seat, Bryn.” He did as asked, leaning back in the chair as the picture of calm. “I want to discuss your training of the new initiates” He nodded as she set the letter aside, turning her full attention on him. “It’s come to my attention that you may have missed some key points. Specifically, the Blackbriars.”

“Did that fool blame me for his mistakes?” He sounded genuinely insulted, and if it weren’t for his recent distractions, Kriskja wouldn’t be considering this at all.

“He wasn’t lying, Bryn. He states he was never told the Blackbriars are off-limits.” Brynjolf’s jaw clenched and he leaned towards her now. She did her best to keep a calm, cold facade, knowing he was looking for anything to use against her out of habit. 

“And just how can you be so sure?”

“Are you really doubting my abilities? Now, of all times?” She arched a brow, giving him this chance to backtrack, which of course he didn’t take. Instead, he crossed his arms defensively.

“I am.” With a sigh, Kriskja stood, knowing that keeping the Guild together was more important than any friendships she may have formed here. Gathering her bag and her letter, she gave Brynjolf a cold look. 

“You’re temporarily relieved of training duties. Focus on jobs for the Guild.” She started for the Cistern, surprised when he didn’t immediately follow behind her. She stopped long enough to give the duty of training new recruits to Rune, assuring him of her trust in his abilities with a smile, before heading topside. Handing her letter off to the courier, she headed towards her house in Riften, planning to rest a day or two before returning to Whiterun. The fire was already started in the fireplace on her arrival, but her housekarl was nowhere to be found. Hanging up her bag and her cloak, she strode in further. Sitting at her table was Farkas, nibbling at some bread and cheese as though he belonged.

“Welcome home, Shield Sister.” His voice was rough, as though he hadn’t used it in hours, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t.

“Farkas, what are you doing here?” He stood, pulling out a chair for her and waiting until she was seated to retake his own spot. He slid a plate with some food towards her.

“You seemed distressed. It’s our job to make sure our fellow Companions are okay.” Kriskja took an experimental bite of the food, surprised to find how delicious it was. “Not to mention how much trouble Riften can be, with the Thieves Guild and all.”

“Oh, the Guild is no trouble.” He gave her a curious look and she considered whether she could tell him about her life. It would be nice to have someone to speak with, since Lydia had died some time ago. Still, Farkas didn’t seem like he would want the weight of Tamriel put on his shoulders, and so she remained quiet.

“Nevertheless, I wanted to make sure.” Seeming satisfied with his own answer, they ate in continued silence, and Kriskja found it more comfortable than she thought silence could ever be. As soon as it was time to sleep, she offered him her bed, waving a hand at his protests as she made her way downstairs to settle into her housekarl’s bed. Though she didn’t sleep most of the night, she still couldn’t help but feel a warmth in her chest at the thought that someone had thought to come check on her.


	5. Chapter 5

Kriskja stayed in Riften for two days, making sure her letter to Jarl Balgruff was sent and money was left in the Guild vault. Farkas insisted on staying in town with her, and though he often asked after her activities, he was respectful of her need for secrecy. The issue with Brynjolf seemed resolved, yet Kriskja could tell whenever one of her fellow Nightingales was looking her way. Neither approached her, but she could feel a distance growing between them. She was happy to have a few of the other thieves asher friends; still, her days at the Cistern tended to be lonely. On the third day, she told Rune she was heading back to Whiterun, and her and Farkas started on their journey. It wasn’t long before they encountered trouble; the rumble of wings on the air and the cry of a dragon had them both dismounting.

“Finally. A challenge.” While Farkas seemed eager at the prospect of fighting, it only filled Kriskja with dread. She hadn’t attempted to fight a dragon without Shouting since the very first, and she had had a small army to assist her. Despite Farkas looking like the bigger threat, the dragon landed and immediately turned it’s attention to her, victory already shining in it’s gaze. Her own resolve hardening, she drew her blades sword, before charging forward and beginning the fight. With her magicka, she kept it pinned down with ice, while Farkas moved in close to swipe at it. It didn’t occur to her until they had it nearly finished off that there would be no hiding her Dragonborn status; the soul would rush into her whether she wanted or not, and he would know. As she leapt forward and dealt the death blow to the beast, it raised it’s head.

“Bo wah zu’u, zeymah!” It’s voice echoed across the valley and made her blood run cold. It was the first time a dragon had called to another for help that she had encountered, and it would mean trouble for them. A rush filled her as the soul filled her, knowledge and power seeping into her blood. Farkas slowly sheathed his weapon, looking at her with awe and wariness.

“I know you have questions, but we have no time.” Her eyes darted to the skies, scanning the horizon for approaching trouble. “That dragon called for another, and it could be mere moments before it arrives.” He nodded, and for the first time she was truly grateful to have him at her side. Together they mounted their horses and set off at a gallop, with her gaze nearly constantly on the sky. It was a tense, silent ride, until they reached Ivarstead. Kriskja slowed them as they entered the town, feeling better about a dragon attack with the number of guards around.

“Halt!” They were brought to a stop by two men in eerily familiar masks. “Are you the one that calls yourself Dragonborn?” Kriskja hesitated, looking towards Farkas as she slipped off her horse.

“Aye, I am Dragonborn.” There were a few gasps from bystanders, but she ignored them. The two men were silent for a moment, as though weighing her words, before each drawing a dagger. Fire cracked in the hand of one, lightning in the other, and she tensed.

“Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver!” She arched a brow, pulling her bow out slowly. Neither made a move to stop her, even as the ebony glinted in the sunlight. “The True Dragonborn comes… You are but his shadow. When Lord Miraak appears, all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!” Kriskja felt a shiver slide down her spine at the name, and it tugged at the plethora of dragon knowledge she had collected thus far. She didn’t have time to focus on it, as the two masked men attacked, flinging fire and lightning at her. She rolled away, throwing up a ward just in time. The guards and Farkas lept into action, and with the men distracted she lined up her shots. Each arrow struck home in their chests, ending their lives with a gurgling sound from each. Waiting until she was sure they were dead, she stowed her bow and moved to rummage through their pockets.

“Shield Sister, there is no honor in looting the dead.” She held back the urge to roll her eyes at Farkas’ words as he moved to stand behind her, continuing her work until she found what she wantetd.

“No, but there is power in information.” She stood with the parchment, unfolding it and reading it over carefully. She felt Farkas move ever closer, reading over her shoulder. “They weren’t alone, and they certainly won’t be the last.”

“Who is this Lord Miraak?” The name caused another involuntary shudder, and Kriskja was suddenly glad they were at the base of the Throat of the World. It seemed she needed to pay a visit to the summit and get answers. “I’ve never heard of anyone in Solstheim being given that name or title.”

“I know of someone who may know.” Tucking the note in one of her many pockets, she moved to collect her horse. So lost in thought, she didn’t notice Farkas behind her until she had already started up the mountain. “Farkas, you need not come along.”

“It’s no trouble.” His tone left littleroom for argument, and she hoped he would be willing to listen to the Greybeards about staying at High Hrothgar with them while she continued on. The ride up the mountain was uneventful and silent, leaving Kriskja to think about the mysterious Miraak and his claim at being true Dragonborn. The men had almost made it sound as though the man himself was not living, but intended to return. Perhaps the same prophecy hailing the return of Alduin and the Dovahkiin was the one they were basing these attacks on. Perhaps they thought the Dragonborn was this Miraak. Still, that didn’t explain why the name seemed to have such an effect on her. In record time, they arrived at High Hrothgar, tying the horses outside and heading in to meet with Arngeir.

“Ah, Dragonborn. What brings you here?” Arngeir may have greeted her, but his gaze was trained on Farkas.

“I need to speak with Paarthurnax. It’s very urgent.” The older man nodded slowly. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind keeping my friend here while I continue my journey.”

“What?” Farkas’ voice was quiet but strong, and she felt bad just dumping him with the monks. They could be boring at best, and she knew she would have to hurry lest he force his way up the mountain.

“Of course. Any friend of yours is welcome here.” Arngeir bowed his head, and she made a note to bring them some sort of gift as thanks. With a nod, she headed for the courtyard, only stopped by Farkas’ hand on her arm.

“Kriskja, wait. You need not leave me here.” She turned to see him giving her a confused look, and she sighed. It struck her that no matter how much her friends and comrades would know about her, they would never know all of it.

“I do, Farkas. I must meet with Paarthurnax alone. I’m sorry.” He stared her down for a few moments before finally nodding and releasing her. Turning, she headed out, looking up the path and bracing herself for the cold before starting up towards the dragon who would have answers for her. Paarthurnax was waiting for her at the top, perched on the wall like always.

“Paarthurnax, I need your help.” He nodded, and she approached closer. “There are men who just came to kill me for being a ‘false Dragonborn. They claim the true Dragonborn is Miraak.” Again, a visceral reaction to the name, and her agitation grew.

“Ah, Miraak. He was Sonaak, a Dragon Priest, and the first Dragonborn. A dangerous foe to Men and Dov alike.” Paarthurnax seemed to shudder as well. “These men, they are followers of him. They will attempt to raise him up to his former glory and lay waste to Nirn. They must be stopped, Dovahkiin.”

“How am I supposed to stop a Dragonborn more powerful than myself?” A dread filled Kriskja at the thought of now having to save the world twice over, even as a plan formed in her head.

“You are more powerful than you know, little dovah. I have faith that you will be able to defeat this evil.” She nodded slowly, already lost in thought. Paarthurnax sighed, leaning his head down until he was only a few feet from her. “I realize this is daunting, and more than anyone should ask of anyone else. This world and it’s people will owe you a great debt.” She nodded, and turned to go. “Good luck, Dovahkiin.” Her thoughts were clouded as she made her way back down the mountain, only pausing long enough to thank the Greybeards and collect Farkas. He was silent as they made their way down the rest of the mountain until they reached Ivarstead again, quietly convincing her to stay a night at the inn and rest. Kriskja knew that she would need help; she could only hope her friends in the Guild and Companions would be willing to do so.


End file.
